


The Great Sunglasses Saga

by GoAwayOlivia



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, Prank Wars, Shenanigans, Slight Crack fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14051580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoAwayOlivia/pseuds/GoAwayOlivia
Summary: Tim just wants to find his sunglasses. Everything spirals from there.(Previously part of my F*ck This Family series, but it was driving me crazy so I pulled it out.)





	1. Tim, Jason

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so anyone familiar with F*ck This Family has probably read all but the last chapter. I didn't anticipate this growing into such a big thing when I first started it, and then I didn't like the idea of it being sandwiched in there between other stuff, so here we are. 
> 
> If you're new to this completely, I hope you enjoy!

There’s something weird going on between Dick and Jason. It started out as one of their petty arguments, but they have so many of those these days that Tim’s just started tuning them out. They start off small, escalate quickly, then explode with a loud, flashy bang before just as rapidly fizzling out into nothing. It’s nothing Tim hasn’t seen a dozen times in the last couple of months, and to be frank, he’s gotten rather bored with it. He stopped paying attention about six fights ago.

 

Which is why he missed the escalation of weirdness going on between his two older brothers until it was too late. Even now though, he’s not that interested. He’s got bigger problems than them. Namely, his missing prescription sunglasses. It isn’t _that_ big a deal. He has contacts and regular sunglasses, but his eyes have been bothering him lately and he’s been wearing his glasses more to give them a break. And he wants his sunglasses, only he can’t find them anywhere in his apartment or even in his car. The last he can remember having them is when he wore them over to Jason’s for a movie night with Steph and Cass, so he figures that’s a good place to look next.

 

Jason’s still half asleep when he answers the door even though it’s well past noon. Tim can’t blame him. The only reason he’s not in the same boat is because he hasn’t actually been to bed yet.

 

“Have you seen my sunglasses? I think the last time I saw them was here,” Tim says by way of greeting.

 

Jason moves aside and lets him in. “Nope, but you can look for them if you want,” he manages through a yawn as he heads straight for the kitchen and his tea kettle. Though Tim doesn’t really see the point.  There’s barely any caffeine when compared to the coffee Jason _could_ be drinking. He might as well be drinking water for all the good it does. He doesn’t bother pointing this out to Jason though. They’ve had that argument a few times and it’s always led to nothing.  Instead, Tim leaves Jason to his terrible life choices and starts scouring the apartment for his sunglasses. It doesn’t take him long to decide they’re not there. Jason, despite what others might think, keeps the place pretty clean. And despite the fact that it’s Jason’s favorite of all his safehouses, it’s still pretty spartan. There’s not much to look through.

 

“Damn it,” Tim moans in frustration.

 

“Can’t find them?” Jason asks from the kitchen. His mug is steaming on the counter and he’s pulling a carton of cigarettes out of the pocket of the sweatpants he’s wearing. Tim doesn’t remember Jason smoking in his Robin days, and he’s pretty sure Jason only smokes now because it pisses Bruce off. Bruce doesn’t say anything about it these days, but he twitches every time Jason walks into the cave smelling like cigarette smoke, and Jason pulling one out is one of the few things that’s guaranteed to make Bruce shut up and walk away. Tim thinks his older brother relishes it a little too much.

 

He answers the question as Jason settles one between his lips. “No. I wore them over here the other night, but I guess I took them back with me. Maybe they’re at the office.”

 

There’s something strange about the cigarette. It looks different than normal. Smaller. Less rumpled than Jason’s cigarettes usually look.

 

Jason’s hand freezes from where it’s reaching for his lighter, and he rolls the cigarette between his teeth a little. It snaps when he bites down.

 

“The fuck?” Jason complains as he continues to crunch. “It’s candy. Fucking candy cigarette!”

 

Tim stares. “Why?”

 

Jason doesn’t answer and instead dumps the carton’s contents out on his counter. Almost two dozen candy cigarettes hit the counter and start rolling. Jason yanks open a kitchen drawer and snatches another carton. It too is filled with candy cigarettes.

 

“What the flying fuck?!” he snarls, abandoning the kitchen abruptly. He storms into the living room and grabs a carton off the coffee table.

 

“How many cartons do you have here?” Tim asks, surprised and mildly disturbed

 

Jason ignores him as more hard, sugary sticks roll across his coffee table. “ _That fucking dick_ ,” Jason snarls. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him so damn hard.”

 

“I assume you’re talking about Dick. Not some other person who is coincidentally a dick.”

 

“Who the fuck else, Replacement?” Jason snaps.

 

Tim watches as he stomps towards the bedroom. He isn’t quite sure what possessed Dick to break into Jason’s place and switch out all his cigarettes, but it’s part of the weird thing currently going on between the two, and Tim wants absolutely zero part of it.

 

“Okay, well you do that. And if you happen to see my sunglasses let me know, okay?”

 

He hears Jason grunt amidst all the banging and thumping coming from the bedroom and figures that’s as much confirmation as he’s going to get. He steps out of the apartment before Jason decides to make him an accomplice to murder. He can always check his office on Monday, after all.


	2. Tim, Bruce, Dick

****

His sunglasses aren’t anywhere in his office. He has just enough time to get in, turn the place upside down and right side up again before Bruce knocks on his door. It’s a surprise because Tim hadn’t expected him in the office today, and certainly not this early.

 

“Morning, Tim. Do you have a minute?”

 

“Sure,” Tim says, settling into his chair behind his desk. “What do you need, Bruce?”

 

Bruce enters the office and shuts the door behind him, which is a good indication that whatever Bruce wants to talk about probably doesn’t actually involve Wayne Enterprise business. 

 

“It’s Dick and Jason,” Bruce says, sitting down.

 

Tim’s immediately suspicious. “What about them?”

 

“Do you know what’s going on between them?”

 

Tim shrugs it off. He is not going to let Bruce drag him into this insanity, and he has a feeling that the man is here to do just that. “Just another one of their arguments, I think. Should go away in a few days.”

 

Bruce frowns. “It’s already been going on a week. And this one is different. It’s starting to interfere with their work.”

 

“Dick and Jason are reasonably mature adults who take their responsibilities mostly seriously. I’m sure they won’t cross any major lines in the field,” Tim attempts to reason. Bruce’s expression is flat and unimpressed, and Tim can’t exactly blame him. “Probably,” he tacks on, because he isn’t actually sure.   


“Do you know what started it?” he presses. “They’ve both been evasive when questioned, but if we can determine the source, we’ll have a better chance of ending it before it escalates even further.”

 

Tim narrows his eyes at Bruce’s use of _we_. He is not involved and has no intention of getting involved, and if Bruce knows what’s good for him, he’ll follow Tim’s example. “You’re on your own here, Bruce. I’m not involved and I’m not going to get involved. Anyone else getting involved will probably just egg them on. Better to let it play itself out.”

 

Bruce frowns, clearly displeased. Tim doesn’t care though. He’s got experience dealing with Bruce’s displeasure and is developing something of an immunity. He’s not going to let Bruce pressgang him into something that will so clearly end in insanity. After all these years, he’s learned his lesson. Instead, he throws the man a bone, hoping it will both appease and distract the man from trying to involve him. “If it helps though, I’m pretty sure it started with Jason not inviting Dick to movie night. You know how Dick gets whenever he’s feeling left out.”

 

Bruce groans and stands. “Couldn’t have been something easy,” he grumbles, making his way to the door.

 

Tim snorts because Bruce is right; there’s not an easy fix available. There’s no way Jason is going to go out of his way to try and make it up to his older brother or make him feel included, especially when purposefully excluding him is something he _knows_ he can use to keep getting under his skin. “I’m telling you; you’re better off leaving it between them.”

 

“Maybe you’re right,” Bruce replies, moving out of the office. “Let’s hope it ends quickly.”

 

It isn’t until half an hour later when Bruce is long gone that Tim realizes he didn’t ask Bruce about his missing sunglasses.

 

*****  


He’s in the middle of a fight with a street gang when Nightwing drops in to give him a hand. The flash of bright pink glitter startles him as Dick jabs an escrima stick into the gut of one of the gang members. It takes less than a minute before their opponents are strewn across the pavement groaning or unconscious. Questions are flooding Tim’s brain, but he keeps his mouth shut until they finish tying up the bad guys and make it up to the roof.

 

“Hey, little brother,” Dick grins in greeting.

 

“Yeah, hey,” Tim replies distractedly, staring at the bright pink glitter escrima sticks and the sequins coating Dick’s suit, catching the city lights and glinting happily. They were definitely eye-catching and made Dick hard to miss, even when standing in relative shadow. Stealth is going to be a bitch for as long as the sequins are attached.

 

Apparently, he’d spoken to soon about Dick and Jason keeping their little feud from affecting their nighttime responsibilities.

 

“So…” Tim begins after a long moment of silence in which Dick in no way acknowledges the weirdness going on with his suit. “You’re kind of gleaming.”

 

Dick nods gamely. “Yeah, it’s sort of a new look, huh?”

 

“You could say that,” Tim agrees.

 

“Kind of nostalgic actually,” Dick says, twisting his arms to watch the sequins glisten in the light. “It reminds me of the circus.”

 

“How the hell did he get them to stick?” Tim wonders out loud, because the material of the suits had to have made it insanely difficult.

 

“Not well,” Dick replies. “I think he knew it would be virtually impossible to make it last so he went for quantity over quality. I’ve been leaving a sequin trail all over Gotham.”

 

Tim nods. “Right. So, did you need something?”

 

“Yeah, what do you know about glitter adhesion?”

 

Tim grimaces. He doesn’t know if Dick’s asking for revenge ideas or if he’s puzzling out how to de-glitterfy his escrima sticks, but either way, if he gives Dick any ideas, that will be seen as him choosing a side, and Jason will absolutely retaliate in kind. Tim refuses to be pulled into what is clearly rapidly devolving into a prank war.

 

“Very little,” he answers.

 

Dick sighs before admitting, “I think Steph was in on it. This seems more her style than Jason’s.”

 

“Probably a safe assumption,” Tim answers. It’s a nice and neutral answer. Neither offering to join Dick’s side, nor proclaiming allegiance to Jason and Stephanie’s. And Dick’s right; the glitter and sequins have Steph written all over them. Jason’s ideas of retaliation tend to have a nastier edge. Dick should actually be thankful for Stephanie’s involvement. It could have been much worse.

 

He changes the subject before Dick can get any ideas about recruiting him for the war. “Hey, have you seen my sunglasses? I can’t find them anywhere.”

 

“There’s a pair in your room at the Manor,” Dick offers helpfully.

 

“Those are my non-prescription ones—wait, what were you doing in my room?”

 

“Bye, little brother!” Dick declares suddenly. He turns and leaps off the building. Tim is halted in his pursuit by the sight of Dick’s ass. Where there was a healthy amount of sequins covering much of Dick’s suit, his ass is absolutely coated in glistening rainbow colors. Tim chokes on a laugh and by the time he recovers, Dick’s already gotten a secure enough lead.

 

He texts Stephanie.

 

Tim: _Just saw Dick’s ass. Nice._

Steph: :D


	3. Tim, Stephanie, Damian

Dick must have confirmed Steph’s involvement in the suit sequin debacle, because when Tim meets up with Batgirl for an information exchange two nights later, her cowl is resplendent with purple glitter.

 

“Wow,” he blinks, taken aback by just how sparkly it is. Her head kind of looks like a disco ball with bat ears.

 

Steph flips her blonde hair. “Yeah, I am pretty stunning.”

 

“Dick struck back I take it? Or did you like his suit so much you decided to try it out for yourself?” Tim asks, smirking wryly.

 

“Dick,” she confirms. “Jokes on him though cause I love it.”

 

Tim blinks. “What about stealth? I could see you coming a mile away.”

 

“Eh, stealth’s overrated.”

 

Tim has the distinct urge to facepalm, but Steph continues. “He’s pulled the little demon brat to his side though,” she growls angrily. “Kid broke into my place and replaced all my Batgirl pajamas with “Fatgirl” pajamas. Spoiled brat must have had them custom made! It was actually patterned with a bunch of really round bats!”

 

Tim knows better than to laugh. Steph’s not above taking cheap shots and she can hit _hard_. Besides, if it was a choice between Damian and Stephanie, there was no question which side he’d choose.

 

“Did you burn them?”

 

“And danced around their ashes. Jason was particularly offended by the amount of money Damian must have spent.”

 

“I can imagine.” It probably hadn’t been pretty. Frivolously throwing around money was still something that got under Jason’s skin. Steph could be pretty disgusted by it too. Combine that with the prank being something Jason would consider disrespectful towards women, and Tim would hate to be in Damian’s shoes right about now. Though, he wouldn’t at all mind hanging around to watch Damian suffer. Whatever it was, it was going to be good.

 

Tim shakes the thoughts out of his head. That was exactly the kind of thinking that got people sucked into prank wars in the first place.

 

He changes the subject. “Hey, have you seen my sunglasses?”

 

“There’s a pair in your room at the Manor,” she answers immediately.

 

“What has everyone been doing in my room?” he snaps, waving his hands about in exasperation.

 

“Who said anything about being in your room?” she returns innocently, and Tim kind of wants to tear his hair out. He knows better than to argue with her at this point though. Stephanie will just go around in endless circles of denial, denial, denial and they’ll get absolutely nowhere.

 

“Those are my non prescription ones. I’m looking for the prescription ones.”

 

“Oh, the black Gucci ones with the amazing polarized lenses?”

 

Tim gets excited. “Yeah!”

 

“Haven’t seen ‘em.”

 

And that excitement promptly dies a fiery death. “Damn it. I’ve been looking _everywhere_.”

 

“Alfred might know though. And if he doesn’t, Alfred can find anything. Why don’t you go check at the Manor. Say tomorrow? Noon-ish?”

 

Her tone is incredibly suspicious, but he doesn’t sense any ill-will from her, so he answers cautiously. “Yeah, alright. That might not be a bad idea.”

 

Steph grins widely. “You won’t regret it, Timbo. And take a camera.”

 

*****

 

The following morning Tim makes his way over to the Manor. It’s a Saturday and blessedly he doesn’t have anything to do at all besides patrol until his Monday morning meeting, so he takes his time enjoying sleeping in and eating a late breakfast at his apartment before heading over to the Manor. He doesn’t spot Alfred, so he heads up to his bedroom to check for his sunglasses. There’s no sign of his frustrating siblings having been in his room, but his non prescription sunglasses are on his lamp table, clearly visible. His prescription ones are nowhere to be found though, so he eventually gives up the search and goes to find Alfred. Steph had a point; even if Alfred didn’t know where they were, there was a good chance the butler would be able to track them down. He’s magical like that.

 

He encounters Damian in the hall, and it’s the years of bat training and his own experiences growing up extremely repressed that allow him to keep a straight face at the sight of the former assassin. He’s still wearing his pajamas and looking the slightest bit groggy, which is unusual for the human terror, even on a Saturday morning. They must have drugged him pretty good, Tim realizes, and not bursting out into hysterical laughter is quite possibly the hardest thing Tim has ever done. Because on top of Damian’s head, his hair is a wild mess of bubble gum pink. Bright bubble gum pink. It’s so damn hysterical, Tim wants to cry.

 

“What are  _you_  doing here, Drake. This house is for those worthy of the Wayne name only,” Damian sneers haughtily and again, it’s a struggle not to react. That superior look under a head of pink hair is probably the greatest thing Tim has ever experienced. He pulls out his phone and immediately starts working on the touch screen. Damian’s not the slightest bit suspicious, even when Tim starts recording. Why would he be? Tim is  _always_  on his phone. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary. He takes a couple of stills while he’s at it, just to cover all his bases.

 

“I’m looking for my sunglasses. Have you seen them?”

 

Damian scoffs, and Tim stays unmoved. “You call yourself a detective and you can’t even track down a pair of errant sunglasses? You are a disgrace, Drake. It greatly disturbs me that father would ever consider you worthy of the Robin title. You’re certainly not fit to inherit father’s legacy. Luckily, I am here now and will do father’s legacy justice as his true heir, and we won’t have to suffer your incompetence any further.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tim answers distractedly, because that’s the way he’s taken to dealing with Damian’s superiority rants lately. “Let me know if you see my sunglasses, okay? Thanks!”

 

He turns and walks away, and behind him, Damian seethes. “I am not your servant, nor will I inform you of your missing sunglasses, Drake! You are unfit of the title detective!”

 

“Uh huh, I heard you the first time,” Tim waves back dismissively.

 

Damian tuts furiously, and Tim hightails it out of the Manor. As hilarious as the pink hair is, he doesn’t want to be anywhere around when Damian realizes what’s happened. The fallout will be catastrophic.

 

Tim grins as he hops in his car and sends the video to Steph and Jason. The stills, he sends to Alfred.

 

Tim:  _Here’s some photos for this year’s album. I hope you’ll include them._

 

Alfred:  _Oh my. I dare say I’ll need to make a backup album, as I’m sure young Master Damian will destroy the first._

 

Tim:  _Good thinking. Hey, will you let me know if you find my prescription sunglasses?_

 

Alfred:  _I’ll be on the lookout, Master Timothy. And might I suggest you and the others avoid the Manor for a few days? I doubt entry will be safe until Master Damian’s fury blows over._

 

Tim:  _Good idea. I’ll pass the message along. Thanks, Alfred!_

 

He can’t stop grinning, and as he puts the car in drive he thinks he can hear Damian’s shout of rage. Tim laughs as he speeds down the driveway.


	4. Tim, Bruce, Cass

Alfred doesn’t find Tim’s sunglasses and Tim stays far, far away from the Manor. He’s not sure what Damian’s got planned for his revenge, but he plans on giving all of them a very wide berth. And for a blessed day, all is silent. But two days after the pink hair incident Damian’s vengeance becomes clear when a video entitled _Pink Hood Lectures Would Be Robbers on the Importance of Breast Cancer Awareness_ pops up on the internet. It goes viral in a matter of hours. Tim watches it in his office with the door closed, torn between amusement and wanting to bang his head on his desk. It is, in fact, a video of the Red Hood with his helmet painted pink, teaching some tied up thugs about breast cancer.

 

“What? You think breast cancer is funny?” Jason’s modulated voice snaps at the would-be robbers. The gun in his hand, along with those in his holsters, look like nerf guns, yet the thugs still appear to be scared shitless. The camera shakes a little as whoever is taking the video giggles. Tim’s heard that laugh enough times to recognize Steph when he hears her.

 

“One in eight women will get breast cancer in their lifetimes,” Jason says, waving the nerf gun around in emphasis. The toy replacement weapons are no doubt also part of Dick and Damian’s revenge, but Jason doesn’t seem anymore bothered by them than he does his helmet being pink. “Almost 250,000 thousand cases of breast cancer were diagnosed last year _alone_. With over 40,000 fatalities. You assholes got mothers? Sisters? Girlfriends? You don’t think awareness matters? This shit is _important_ , so don’t go giggling like fucking punks when you see someone taking a stand for awareness. You stand up and support that shit because it _matters_. People need to know the signs so they can catch it early. Awareness and screening can fucking save _lives_.”

 

“Preach!” Steph carols from behind the camera.

 

Tim’s not the slightest bit surprised that Jason isn’t concerned by the repainting of his hood. Nor is he surprised that Jason’s using the opportunity to take a stand for breast cancer awareness. It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do, and the fact that Dick or Damian didn’t consider it as the likely outcome doesn’t say much about their detective skills.

 

Then again, Dick probably did consider it, and then wasn’t at all put off by the likely result. And Damian still doesn’t know Jason well enough to have predicted this.

 

“So… uh,” one of the thugs begins fearfully. “My girl, she’s my life, ya know? And that shit’s scary. What should we do?”

 

The Red (Pink) Hood visibly relaxes a little. “Doc Thompkins’ clinic does free screenings. Call your girlfriend from the precinct and tell her to get checked.”

 

The thug nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

“Good. Now you assholes sit tight until the police get here. I got other shit to do.”

 

The video cuts off.

 

It’s all over the media, and is basically the only thing discussed the entire day. A very shoddy paparazzi picture of Damian’s pink hair surfaces and the media assumes the youngest Wayne is joining the Red Hood in taking a stand for breast cancer awareness. By the time Tim leaves the office, there’s an army of paparazzi in front of Wayne Tower trying to get a statement from any of the Waynes on Damian’s stand/any possible connection he might have to the Red Hood.

 

Tim sneaks his way out and heads to the Cave. He doesn’t want to, but at least there he knows there aren’t paparazzi waiting to bombard him at the door. Cass and Bruce are already there with Bruce sitting at the computer with the video, the picture of Damian, and a half dozen media commentaries pulled up on the screens.

 

“We’re donating a half a million dollars to the National Breast Cancer Foundation and clinics around the city to sponsor free mammograms,” he says as Tim walks up to stand beside Cassandra, who’s perched on the edge of the console looking highly amused.

 

“Jason will be thrilled,” Tim remarks lightly.

 

“It’s a good cause,” Bruce admits. “But I could have done without the media circus.” He looks from the computer to Tim and Cassandra. “You two are my favorites.”

 

Cassandra grins wide and Tim snorts. Bruce has been tearing his hair out over the others’ shenanigans for two weeks now. His statement isn’t exactly surprising.

 

Tim turns his attention back to the screen, surveying the newest media commentaries. In the corner of the screen is an Instagram selfie featuring Stephanie and Jason that Tim hasn’t seen yet. They’re sitting on Dick’s couch in his apartment wearing sunglasses. Jason’s got a leather jacket on even though it’s the middle of summer, and he’s smoking a cigarette like he thinks he’s James Dean. There’s no visible sign of their prank in the picture, but the caption reads _@FlyingGrayson, you’ll never guess what we did._ Accompanied by a myriad of hashtags. _#soulsiblings, #thebestteam, #we’llwinthebattle, #andthewar, #bringit_.

 

Tim hardly pays them any attention, however, because his eyes are trained on Stephanie’s face. More specifically, on what she’s wearing on her face. “That—she—” he starts and stops, completely outraged. “Those are my sunglasses! Those are my _fucking sunglasses_!”

 

Bruce seems startled by Tim’s sudden outburst and language. But then, his eyes sharpen and take on an evil gleam as he sees his opportunity. “This has gone on long enough. It’s time for it to end,” he declares firmly, giving them both a serious look. “Can I count you both on my team?”

 

“Yes,” Cass nods happily, her eyes taking on their own evil glint.

 

And Tim… he’d wanted nothing to do with this. He’d been absolutely determined to keep out of it at all costs. But he’d also been looking for his favorite fucking sunglasses for two fucking weeks, and Steph had them all along. He’d wanted to stay out of it, but she made it personal and now Tim’s out for blood. “ _Fuck yes_.”

 

Bruce grins, “Good.”

 

And Stephanie and Jason, Damian and Dick, they don’t stand a fucking chance. Not with Tim, Cass and Bruce united against them. They’re all going down.


	5. Jason, Steph, Babs, Dick, Damian

The night had been long and exhausting, and Jason’s drained and sore by the time he finally makes it back around to his favorite safe house. It’s late summer and positively sweltering, even in the middle of the night, and being out and about in his Red Hood gear is nothing short of miserable. It doesn’t matter how high-tech their materials are, his suit is still sticking to him from the sweat, and he’s minutes away from saying fuck it and cutting it off where he stands. So much so that he doesn’t even notice the air conditioning isn’t working until he’s got the damn thing off.

 

He leaves everything on the ground, not even two feet from the window, and closes his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the cool air on his sweat slick skin. Only no cool air comes. Jason tilts his head, listening intently for the faint hum of the air conditioner, but all he can hear is the occasional street sounds of Gotham at 4 am.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he grumbles, stumbling in nothing but his boxers over to the HVAC panel on the wall. The switch is flipped to on, it’s set to 70 degrees, yet there is no air coming anywhere from his vents. He flips the switch off and on again, but there’s no click and hum of the air conditioner kicking on.

                                                                  

The groan he lets out is fairly pitiful. It’s so damn hot and he’s aching, and sure, he could get dressed and drag himself to another safe house, but he feels half dead, and that would require energy he just doesn’t have. Instead, he opens up the bedroom windows and resigns himself to a night of no air conditioning. He’ll get a cold shower, plug in one of his fans, and once he gets a few hours of sleep, he’ll get someone in to fix the AC. It’ll be fine.

 

He drags himself into the bathroom and turns the shower on cold, strips off his boxers and is about to step in, when the steam wafting out from behind the curtain makes him pause.

 

He stares in confusion, reaching his arm out towards the water. “What the hell?”

 

It’s fucking _scalding_ when he touches it, even though the faucet is on cold. He flips it over to hot in the vain hope that somehow his water just decided it wanted to play opposite day, but nothing happens. The water stays hot and steam continues to rise, making the humid air in his bathroom even more sweltering. Grumpily, he flicks the water off, and turns to the sink.

 

The water that comes out is blessedly cold, and Jason grabs a washcloth and immediately starts rinsing himself off with the cool water. It feels amazing, and after thoroughly rinsing off the sweat, he dunks his whole head under the faucet, groaning as the cool water soaks through his nasty hair. He stays there for a while, but when his back twinges, he reluctantly shuts the water off and moves into the bedroom. He pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and drags the blankets off the bed, leaving them on the floor. He arranges the fan so it’ll blow directly on him, then he flops onto the bed. Despite everything, he falls asleep quickly.

 

*****

 

When he wakes up a few hours later, he’s already sweaty, skin sticking to the bottom sheet, despite the air being blown on him from the fan. It’s mid-morning based on the light flooding in through the open windows, and Jason groans miserably. It’s so damn hot.

 

The call to the landlord goes straight to voicemail, and Jason let’s out a stream of curses at the message. The HVAC people have been called. They’ll get to it on Tuesday. _Tuesday_. It’s fucking Saturday.

 

He drags himself out of bed, throws some clothes on, and stuffs some things into a duffle bag before heading down to the space he uses as a garage for his motorcycle. He pauses as soon as he sees it, dropping his duffle. The back tire is flat.

 

He stares. “You’re _joking_.” His day is quickly shaping up to be really fucking awful.

 

It doesn’t take long to get the tire changed, but by the time it’s finished, Jason’s clothes are soaked in sweat. He’s looking forward to the drive to his next safe house, because the wind against his sweat soaked body is going to feel amazing. Only he gets stopped at _every single light_. Not the kind of situation where the light turns red as he’s nearing it and he can push his luck and speed through the intersection at the last second. Oh no. They turn red when he’s halfway up the block so that there’s already a mass of cars stopped waiting for the lights to turn green. And he swears they’re longer than normal.

 

He turns off the main street in the hopes of hitting less lights on the side roads, but the same thing happens. Again and again and again.

 

By the time he finally gets to his safe house, he’s a hairsbreadth away from shooting someone. But when he gets into the apartment, and the air is cool and he relaxes a little. He just needs the shower he couldn’t get last night, maybe another bout of more comfortable sleep, and then his day will be salvageable.

 

He has just enough time in the shower to get shampoo in his hair before the water cuts off. He swears viciously.

 

*****  


His luck doesn’t get any better over the next few days. His patrols are a frustrating nightmare of chasing leads across the city and back again, with every last one of them hitting a dead end. He goes through three more safe houses; one more has the AC out, another one has no power, and the third’s fire alarms go off periodically through the day and night, and the building can’t seem to fix it.

 

It’s been three frustrating, exhausting days, and by the time he gets Stephanie’s text message, he’s nearing the end of his rope.

 

Soul Sis: _Emergency meeting pronto. The waffle place. Be there in 15._

It takes 30, because again he catches every single fucking light. When he finally drops down into the booth across from Stephanie, she looks as exhausted and at the end of her rope as he feels. “You too, huh?” he asks.

 

She nods grimly. “I think it’s time we wave the white flag.”

 

Jason shakes his head immediately. It’s not as though the thought hasn’t crossed his mind that his atrocious luck over the last few days had been purposefully done. It’s a little hard to believe that it’s all just happened on its own for no other reason than that the Universe has always seemed to hate him. But the thing is, he’s always kind of had atrocious luck anyway. Periods of time where absolutely everything that can go wrong, does. It’s not _new_. He had weeks like this when living on the streets, weeks like this as Robin, weeks like this after his resurrection. But the mere fact it’s happening to Stephanie too, at the same time no less, is proof enough that this isn’t just the universe taking another dump on him. But even so, he can’t for one second believe it’s Dick and Damian pulling the strings.

 

“Look,” he tells her, taking a sip of the coffee she’d already ordered for him. “No way is this them. Dickie has been having way too much fun to get this vicious. Yes, he’s capable of being this evil, but even booby trapping all of his cereal isn’t enough to get him this mad. And Damian is not far enough along in his supervillain development to have achieved this level of patience or subtlety. It can’t be them.”   


“Jason, I haven’t slept in three days,” Stephanie complains, voice desperate. “Last night there were _cats_ fighting outside my window. _All night long_. I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“It’s not them,” Jason says firmly.

 

“Then who’s doing this to us? Is it happening to them too? Who would be this cruel?”

 

Jason doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen anyone else in the family in days. He can’t think of anything they’d done to anyone but Dick and Damian. They’re the only ones with motive, but he’s still convinced this is someone else.

 

His thoughts are interrupted by the waitress. Jason orders a large plate of toast, eggs, hashbrowns and bacon. Steph predictably goes for the waffles.

 

“Sorry,” the waitress replies, looking apologetic. “We were bought out earlier this week. Everything is the same except they took the waffles off the menu.”

 

Jason’s eyes widen as it all clicks into place. There’s only person who would drop a huge chunk of change just for the most petty and ridiculous reason imaginable. How the hell had he not seen it before?

 

Steph’s eyes widen in horror as she looks at Jason, reaching the same realization. “ _No_. He wouldn’t _dare_.”

 

“Of course he fucking would,” Jason spits, because now that he knows, he’s _pissed_. Bruce wants to make his life miserable? Well, Jason’s proven more than enough that he can give that shit right back. If the old man wants a war, then he’s going to get himself a goddamn war.

 

The waitress shifts, uncomfortable. “Um, the pancakes are pretty good too, if you want to try those.”

 

“Pancakes?!” Steph practically screeches, scandalized.

 

Jason cuts her off quickly, taking mercy on the waitress. “She’ll take the pancakes. Just put a shit ton of whip cream and cinnamon on them, and maybe she won’t notice.”

 

Stephanie splutters at him indignantly, but the waitress nods and beats a hasty retreat. It isn’t long before Steph is fuming. “How dare he?! He crossed the line! The sacred waffle line! He violated the sanctity of _waffles,_ Jason! Oh, I’m gonna punch him right in the fucking dick!”

 

“Fuck yes. But this changes things, Blondie. He’s probably got surveillance on us,” he says, sweeping his gaze around the restaurant suspiciously, glaring at the camera in the corner. “Probably has had it on us for days.” And he’s furious as hell about the fact, but they’re in way over their heads now. Bruce has been playing this game for days, and they’re just now entering it. He has every advantage.

 

“Oh my god, we’re screwed,” Steph realizes, horrified.

 

“Maybe. Hopefully not though,” Jason says, pulling out his phone. He pulls up the encrypted line to the Clock Tower and prays they’ve got at least one ally out there. Not even Bruce can tap into Babs’ shit without her knowing, after all.

 

_RH to O. SOS. Begging mercy, safe passage and safe haven. Will do anything. Help us, oh mighty Oracle. You’re our only hope._

 

He waits, holding his breath. But after a moment, she replies.

 

O: _Done._

 

Jason stands up quickly, and throws some bills down on the table, before beckoning Steph after him. He hates to do it, but they don’t have time for breakfast. Not with the stakes this high. “Come on, we need to move,” he says as he dials Dick’s number. Steph hurries after him.

 

When Dick answers, he sounds exhausted, confirming Jason’s suspicion that it’s not just him and Stephanie being tortured here. “Hey, Jay. I’m glad you called. We might be willing to enter into negotiations.”

 

He can hear Damian in the background, loudly making his opinion about that little concession known.

 

“Give the phone to Damian,” Jason says quickly.

 

“What?”

 

“ _Now_.”

 

There’s a slight shuffle and when Damian speaks, it’s positively acidic. “ _Todd_.”

 

He hopes that Babs is now shielding their phones, but just in case, he speaks in Arabic. A code used exclusively by the League of Assassins. Bruce can speak Arabic, of course, but Jason’s hoping he hasn’t had enough exposure to the League’s code to have cracked it yet.

 

 _“There’s a new enemy. We need to redraw battle lines. Meet at the Clock Tower. Make it fast._ ”

 

There’s a long pause, and Jason isn’t sure if it’s the message itself or the fact that it’s delivered in a code that is supposed to be a top League secret. After a moment though, he answers.

 

“ _Understood. See you there._ ”

 

Jason hangs up and mounts his motorcycle, motioning Steph on behind him.

 

“Where are we going?” she asks, settling behind him.

 

“To get help,” he replies, before cranking the engine and taking off.

 

They don’t hit a single red light the entire trip.


	6. Jason, Steph, Babs, Dick, Damian, Alfred

Dick and Damian arrive mere moments after Jason and Stephanie and it is immediate bedlam inside Barbara’s normally quiet clocktower.

 

“Who taught you that code?” Damian demands, stomping towards Jason like he isn’t at least two feet shorter than the second Robin. They’re in civilian gear so she’s at least somewhat sure they’ve only got a few weapons between them, which minimizes the chances of a bloodbath. Though Barbara’s sure the pink hair prank is still fresh in Damian’s mind. He had to dye it black after the bleach and pink, but it’s not exactly the same as it was. She’s sure he’s angry enough about it to draw blood. And yet, even if a fight did break out, there’s no way it would last long. All four of them look like they’re at the tail end of a massive week long Arkham breakout.

 

Her lips curl slightly in amusement. It’s been an entertaining few days, she won’t deny that for a second. But… she can’t in good conscious let it continue. As intelligent as they all are, they’re also idiots. They’re not going to figure it out on their own. And they’re going to continue going on patrol while they’re sleep deprived and there’s only so much she can do to keep them out of any real trouble.

 

Jason crosses his arms over his chest and sneers down at Damian. Barbara braces herself for a “your mom” joke, but the second Robin apparently decides simple will do more damage because he answers, “Your mother, obviously.”

 

Damian practically shakes with rage and she watches Dick step between them. “We’ve got bigger issues right now, you two. Like how the hell are we going to deal with Bruce?”

 

“The waffles!” Stephanie wails dramatically. “The _waffles_!”

 

“Shut up about your damn waffles, _Fat_ girl!” Damian snaps furiously.

 

“I will _not_! Your psychopathic dickhead father stole my waffles!”

 

“So then what are we going to do about it?” Dick steps in smoothly, taking control of the situation.

 

“Bruce wants to go to war, we’re gonna fucking go to war, Dick,” Jason snarls and Barbara is torn between shaking her head in pity and laughing in their faces. If they only knew…

 

“Okay, but this is _Bruce_!” Steph protests. “I mean, I want to neuter the son of a bitch as much as the rest of you, but you can’t deny he has the advantage here. None of us are exactly at our best right now, and he’s already got the lead.”

 

“Which is why we need fresh meat,” Jason answers immediately.

 

“Tim and Cass,” Dick agrees, nodding in approval. Barbara barely hides her snort.

 

“Cass,” Steph breathes, looking hopeful for the first time. “Cass will save us.”

 

Damian scoffs, no doubt at the idea that they need allies. Or maybe it’s the idea that he could possibly need Tim. Whatever it is, he doesn’t outright deny they need him so maybe he’s maturing a little. It at least shows he isn’t stupid.

 

“Babs, are you shielding our phones from Bruce?” Stephanie asks as she pulls up Cass’s contact info on her phone. Jason looks like he’s typing out a message, no doubt to Tim.

 

“Yeah, you’re not going to want to do that,” Barbara tells them, still torn between pity and mocking amusement.

 

Jason looks up from his phone, expression instantly wary. While Stephanie and Dick look exhausted yet determined, Jason looks like a cornered animal ready to fight to the death, expecting to be kicked while he’s down while he’s at it. Damian just looks like an outraged cat, hissing and spitting, hair raised and tail puffed.

 

“Why not?” Jason asks, clearly expecting the worst.

 

“Did you really think Bruce would enter the fight without forming his own alliance?”

 

“ _No_!” Steph gasps, horrified.

 

“What?!” Damian demands and Dick’s expression shutters.

 

Jason swears. A _lot_. And for a moment, that’s the only noise in the clocktower, but then Stephanie settles on denial. “No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do that to me.”

 

“Eh,” Jason retorts, tilting his head skeptically.

 

Stephanie’s expression falls. “You’re right. She totally would. She probably thinks it’s funny.”

 

“How’d Bruce involve them?” Dick asks. “Maybe we could turn them. I’ve got some leverage saved up and let’s face it, everyone wants the opportunity to get one up on Bruce.”

 

“Not gonna work,” Barbara retorts, pulling up the picture of Stephanie and Jason in Dick’s apartment from her Instagram account.

 

The boys look at the picture, confused.

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Damian demands impatiently.

 

“Yeah, that was just us filling all of Dick’s cereal boxes with sawdust,” Jason says. And when Dick gives a sarcastic, “Thanks for that, by the way.” Jason just waves him off impatiently. “What does that have to do with Tim and Cass?”

 

Before Barbara can answer, Steph gives a very quiet, “Uh oh.”

 

All three bat boys turn on her.

 

“Blondie, _what did you do_?” Jason asked for all three of them.

 

“Well, um… you see… the thing is…”

 

Barbara puts an end to her floundering, pointing at Steph’s face in the picture. “Guess whose sunglasses those are?”

 

The uproar is immediate. “Oh, for the love of fuck! What the hell, Blondie?!”

 

“Damn it! Stephanie, _how could you_?”

 

“Brown, you fool!”

 

“You posted photographic evidence of your crime on your Instagram, Blondie?!”

 

“Tim holds grudges like Bruce holds grudges, Steph!”

 

“I will not suffer the consequences of your stupidity, Brown!”

 

“Can you answer a question for me?” Barbara asks Stephanie as the boys continue to lose their crap. “ _Why_?”

 

“It’s like having super vision,” Steph admits. “I can see really, _really_ well and glasses cost a _fortune_ , Babs. Literally, a fortune. And don’t even talk to me about vision insurance, that shit’s a joke!”

 

“Damn it, Steph, I’ll buy you some freaking glasses. Just call off Tim! We need him on our side. And if we get Tim, we’ll probably get Cass too. Then we can destroy Bruce.”

 

Barbara shakes her head at Jason’s naivete. “I think it’s too late for that. If you want this to end, then it’s time to call an armistice.”

 

“Fuck that, Barbie! I’m not just going to roll over for _Bruce_!” Jason snaps, practically spitting Bruce’s name.

 

“That’s not what I said,” she retorts impatiently, rolling her eyes. It really shouldn’t be surprising that Jason’s fury is completely focused on Bruce, even knowing Tim and Cass have been working with him. He never shies from a reason to hold a grudge against the man.

 

She reaches on her console, punching the line for Alfred. “Agent A. It’s time.”

 

It’s less than a minute before they’re all getting a message from Alfred. Barbara’s lips curl in amusement as she watches them read it.

 

Alfred: _I am deeply disappointed in each and every one of you. I will not allow this destructive behavior to continue any further. I expect you all at the Manor in an hour. Anyone who acts out against another will earn my severe displeasure._

 

Jason growls furiously, every bit that cornered animal.

 

“No!” Damian snaps, stomping his foot like the child he is. “Drake can’t win! I won’t allow it!” And like Jason immediately blamed Bruce, it’s not at all surprising that Damian blames Tim.

 

“It’s Alfred, Dami,” Dick answers, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “No one is winning here.” And she’s actually not sure who Dick blames, or whether he’s even really that angry about it. If she had to guess, she’d say he also puts the blame on Bruce, but she doubts he’s anywhere near Jason’s level of angry at the man. Though she does know, that when the opportunity comes, Dick will make him regret it. Tim and Cass are probably safe.

 

“Man, I really liked these,” Steph laments, pulling the sunglasses out of her purse and tearing Barbara from her thoughts. “I could see so well.”

 

Jason calms from his fury long enough to frown at her. “We need to make you an eye appointment, Blondie.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” she concedes.

 

Barbara claps her hands. “Well, you all got Alfred’s message. Your idiocy is in his hands now. Out of my clocktower and off to the Manor. And for the love of God, get some sleep before you go on patrol. There’s only so much I can do to keep you alive.”

 

They all grumble unhappily as they head for the doors, except Jason who hangs back with a determined expression. It’s easy to see the fury still beneath the surface, but he has a better handle on it than he did mere moments ago. He doesn’t make her wait to find out why he’s still there.

 

“If you help me get Bruce back for this, I’ll owe you one hell of a favor, Barbie.”

 

Barbara considers it for a moment. Jason won’t cooperate without some sort of assurance that he’ll get revenge on Bruce. And without his cooperation, the armistice won’t accomplish anything, even with the threat of Alfred’s displeasure on the table. But, if she gives Jason what he needs, he’ll be willing to play along for now. She knows better than to think he won’t instigate some sort of revenge plot, whether she helps him or not. And if she does agree to help him, at least she can minimize some of the bloodshed. Besides, Bruce might actually deserve it for letting Tim and Cass go wild on them all. That was just a little too cruel. He’s supposed to be the adult one here, after all. But as usual, she finds herself filling that role.  

 

“Alright, but I’ll have conditions,” Barbara decides.

 

Jason considers it for a moment before accepting. “Fine.”

 

Barbara nods. “Good. Now get out of here. And try your best not to shoot him the moment you see him.”

 

“No promises,” Jason retorts, heading for the door. Barbara settles back into her chair as her space returns to the peace and quiet she’s accustomed too. She’s done her part. The eight giant children are Alfred’s problem now, and she doesn’t envy him a bit. Still, she leans forward and punches his line.

 

“You’ll film it for me, won’t you?”

 

“Of course, Miss Barbara,” Alfred replies immediately.

 

Barbara grins. Maybe the headache will be worth it.


	7. The Whole Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been mostly done with this chapter for ages, but I couldn't decide how to handle Bruce. Special thanks to chibi_nightowl for always helping me out of the holes I dig myself into. There'd still be a gaping hole in the middle of this chapter if not for her.

 

Alfred is not the slightest bit surprised or amused when the first text he receives after his command is from Master Bruce himself.

 

Bruce: _I have an important meeting this afternoon. I’m afraid I won’t make it._

 

He doesn’t hesitate to call. The phone rings three times and Alfred briefly wonders if Bruce will be brazen enough to ignore the call altogether, but near the end of the fourth ring, his oldest ward apparently chickens out. “Alfred.” He can hear the reluctance in Bruce’s voice and with no one there to see him, he takes the opportunity to roll his eyes.

 

“Master Bruce, I have already been assured by Lucius that your presence at this afternoon’s meeting is not required. If you are not back here within the hour, you can do your own cooking and cleaning for the next week and I will do nothing to stop the war of mass destruction your children are about to unleash on you, each other, and your house. You _will_ be here in an hour’s time. Are we clear.” It’s not a question and they both know it.

 

There’s a moment’s pause before Bruce surrenders. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

 

“Very good sir.” Alfred hangs up.

 

Timothy and Cassandra are the first to the Manor, and Alfred isn’t surprised. He’s fairly certain they’d both been skulking in the cave—Timothy planning further doom on his siblings and Cassandra egging him on.

 

“I’m not done,” he hears Timothy complain from the study. Alfred makes his way over. The young man is slumped on the sofa, arms crossed with a surly expression.

 

“You are,” Cassandra counters, offering him a consoling pat on the arm. “It was fun.”

 

“They need to suffer.”

 

“Master Timothy,” Alfred speaks, announcing his presence. Timothy looks up, a little startled, but Cassandra just gives him a happy smile. The last few days have apparently been a source of endless amusement for her, and she seems no less pleased at the prospect of its’ no doubt messy end at Alfred’s hands. If there is any winner in this ridiculous contest, it’s Cassandra, who had no stakes in the game, participated at her own pleasure, and who will no doubt come out with no new enemies or vows for revenge. He gives her a reproachful look, but she just smiles. Alfred turns the look on Timothy. “I’m quite certain your siblings have suffered enough.”

 

For a brief moment, Timothy looks like he wants to argue, but then he abruptly gives up. “ _Fine_ ,” he huffs, rather petulantly, Alfred feels. He resists the temptation to roll his eyes. It seems all of his charges have suddenly turned into young children. Though, to be fair, it is somewhat refreshing to see Master Tim acting more his age for once. It is rather rare, although it’s bound to cause even more dramatic clashes with Master Damian. Alfred’s already arranged for the two to be on opposite corners of the table with Cassandra and Dick between them. It’ll be a miracle of no one is stabbed before the day’s through.

 

“Will Bruce even show?” Tim challenges after a moment. “I refuse to take all the blame here.”

 

“Yes,” Cassandra answers before Alfred has the chance. “He fears Alfred.”

 

Alfred doesn’t bother hiding his satisfaction. “Thank you, Miss Cassandra. We will begin shortly. You can go ahead and make your way to the dining room. There are snacks waiting. The assigned seats are nonnegotiable,” he adds.

 

Cassandra wastes no time and leads a grumbling Tim off to find food.

 

Alfred hears the distant roar of a motorcycle and he moves to the foyer. Barbara had informed him that Jason and Stephanie would be arriving via Jason’s motorcycle and Dick and Damian in Dick’s car. Dick will likely park in the garage, and Alfred sends him instruction that he is to confiscate all of Master Damian’s weapons before letting him in the house. He reserves the equally tricky task of doing the same with Master Jason for himself.

 

He opens the door as the pair dismount the motorcycle. Stephanie is carrying a literal white flag and the pair of sunglasses that started this mess in the first place. While she trudges defeated up the stairs, Jason stalks dangerously. The fury inside of him is obvious, building up like a volcano. It’ll take only the sight of Master Bruce’s face for it to blow.

 

“Master Jason, Miss Stephanie. Thank you for coming.” He focuses his attention on Stephanie, gesturing to the open door. “The dining room is prepared. If you’re hungry there is food available. I suggest you return those to Master Tim,” he instructs, nodding to the sunglasses clutched in one hand.

 

She grumbles unintelligibly and makes her way inside. Jason, on the other hand, stands on the porch determinedly with every muscle tightly coiled in barely suppressed rage. Alfred stifles a sigh. While he does not find Master Jason near as difficult as the rest of the family seem to, he’s still not particularly easy to handle when furious.

 

“Master Jason,” he begins.

 

“I need to shoot him,” Jason breaks in, eyeing Alfred in the utmost seriousness. “Seriously. You have to let me shoot him, Alfie. _Please_.”

 

Alfred frowns. “There will be no shooting in the Manor. In fact, you will leave all weapons on the table.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be in the Manor. I can shoot him out here, then you won’t have to clean up the blood. I’ll just wing him, I promise. He deserves it. You know he does.”

 

“Whether he deserves it or not isn’t the issue, Master Jason. You will not be shooting your father. Now surrender your guns.”

 

Jason shifts about angrily on his feet before offering what he no doubt sees as a compromise. “Okay, what if I stab him instead? Just a little.”

 

Alfred is unimpressed. “Absolutely not. All weapons on the table,” he instructs, pointing to the round table in the foyer.

 

Master Jason has never been one to give up easily though. “I’m willing to bargain.”

 

“And you think you have an offer that will make me agree to you shooting or stabbing your father?” Alfred asks, raising an incredulous brow.

 

“Non-lethal shooting,” Jason clarifies. “But yes…. I’ll stop cussing.”

 

Alfred rolls his eyes heavenward and Jason barrels on, attempting to sweeten the deal. “And I’ll start coming to the cave when I get injured so that you can check me over yourself.”

 

Frowning, Alfred inwardly debates this particular offer. He hates not knowing whether or not Master Jason has been injured on patrol, and he hates that when he is injured, coming home to have his wounds tended is a last resort. He hates that on any given night, Master Jason could be out running around and facing down criminals with poorly tended wounds and subpar equipment, putting himself in unnecessary danger and none of them would ever know. Sometimes, after particularly rough nights, he sends Mistress Cassandra to hunt him down and make sure he is whole. Occasionally, she drags him back home for Alfred to look after. She’s perhaps the only one who can manage it. “Master Jason, you should really do that anyway.”

 

“And I’ll come to Sunday brunches.”

 

Which would also be lovely, but again something he wants Jason to do anyway. Because this is Jason’s _home_ and they are his _family_.

 

“I’ll stay at the Manor on the weekends.”

 

It’s getting difficult now for Alfred to say no. The prospect of having all of his charges safe and under his roof, where he can check on them after their busiest nights and make sure they’re well rested and fed is tempting. But it defeats the purpose when it means Jason shooting one of them. “All of those things would be absolutely lovely. Couldn’t we come to some other agreement that doesn’t involve patricide?”

 

Jason is still clearly determined. “I told you. _Non-lethal_. I’ll quit smoking.”

 

Alfred hesitates. To have Jason around, warm, safe and fed _and_ for him to stop doing damage to his lungs…

 

“ _Please, Alfie_ ,” Jason says, sensing his weakness and not above begging.

 

Alfred is pained. He wants everything Jason’s offered, but not at the expense of the health and safety of another one of his charges. While it’s true Master Bruce is rather frequently shot, he tends to be wearing full armor and comes out at most a bit bruised. And Alfred will never forget the little boy who’d watched his parents get gunned down in an alley. Regardless of how many times Bruce has faced the weapon down since, he still hates every time he’s shot. “I’m sorry, Master Jason. I cannot allow it.”

 

Jason frowns and moves to the small table in the foyer. He starts unloading a rather impressive arsenal considering he’s dressed in civilian gear. “Fine,” he declares shortly. “For now. But I can tell you were tempted. We can discuss this again later.”

 

It’s the best Alfred’s going to get and he knows it. Perhaps there are other options that won’t involve causing Master Bruce bodily harm. “I suppose,” he agrees. “Now into the dining room, if you will. And please take your assigned seat.”

 

“Far away from Bruce?” Jason guesses, voice bitter.

 

“As far as I could put you,” Alfred admits. “I was actually tempted to seat you in separate rooms.”

 

Jason snorts.

 

When they reach the dining room, Dick has a hand on Damian’s shoulder to keep him in his seat. The younger boy is doing his absolute best to murder Tim with his gaze alone, but Master Tim is too distracted by Miss Stephanie to be the least bit bothered.

 

“They’re not superpowered sunglasses!” Tim snaps. “They don’t give you superpowers! That means you need glasses!”

 

Stephanie glares. “Fine then, I guess I need glasses.”

 

Tim throws his hands in the air. “I let you drive! _All the time_!”

 

Alfred feels the beginning of a headache pulse behind his eyes.

 

Stephanie rolls her eyes. “I stole your sunglasses, not crashed your car.”

 

“You could have gotten us both killed,” Tim snaps, snatching up his phone.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Making you an eye appointment. We’re getting you fucking contacts or glasses or something.”

 

Alfred frowns his displeasure at Tim for his use of crude language, but the young man has yet to notice his presence in the room.

 

“You know,” Stephanie begins in a wheedling voice. “You could just let me keep the sunglasses and get new ones.”

 

At the positively frigid glare from Master Tim, she throws her hands up in surrender. “Alright! _Fine_!” She sulks her way over to her designated seat by Master Jason’s unoccupied chair and sits, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“Tomorrow at two,” Tim says tells her, putting his phone away. He looks up and immediately stiffens at the sight of Alfred frowning at him. “Sorry, Alfred,” he apologizes quietly.

 

Jason snickers beside him. “Caught red handed, baby bird.”

 

Tim glares. “Shut up, Jason. You get caught all the time.”

 

Jason shrugs and sits casually, but his eyes narrow at Tim immediately and Alfred doesn’t like the calculated look. Jason might blame Bruce for the last few days, but there’s no question that Tim has rather creatively made them all miserable too.

 

Alfred steps in before things can get ugly. “Mistress Cassandra, if you wouldn’t mind hunting down your father? I’m sure he’s skulking around here somewhere.” He does not bother to hide his displeasure.

 

“I’m going to punch him in the dick,” he can just hear Stephanie mutter. Jason throws up a hand and they high five. Alfred, for his own sanity, pretends he didn’t hear. All the same, he stays close to Jason’s chair. He’s hoping Master Dick will keep Damian in line, but given the way the eldest’s eyes have narrowed on the doorway, he’s not confident that will happen.

 

There’s not much he can do about that, however. While Damian can cause quite a bit of damage, Alfred’s deemed Jason the biggest risk for violence. Damian, no matter how he might behave, still does have the smallest bit of hero worship for his father and doesn’t actually want to see him maimed. Jason, on the other hand, might feel he’s doing them all a favor by permanently retiring the Batman. Whatever havoc Damian wreaks, Master Bruce has unquestionably brought it on himself.

 

Cassandra returns first, followed shortly by Bruce, and there’s an immediate uproar. Jason’s on his feet quickly, and the only thing that stops him from leaping the length of the table to deck the man in the face is Alfred’s firm grip on his shoulder. Stephanie is also on her feet and Master Damian is standing in his chair to help compensate for the differences in height, though Alfred is relieved to see there isn’t a weapon in his hands.

 

For a moment, nothing is discernable in the shouting. But if Alfred concentrates, he can pick out the individual threats.

 

“— _fucking dead! Your fucking days are fucking numbered you fucking jackass! I learned torture from the League, and I’m real fucking creative. You don’t want to fucking play this game with me, Bruce. You’re going to fucking lose.”_

_“How dare you lump me in with these cretins! An alliance with Drake?! DRAKE?! Despicable!”_

 

“— _punch you in the dick! What the fuck did waffles ever do to you, assface?! Give them the fuck back or say goodbye to the family jewels!”_

 

Master Dick is still sitting and hasn’t joined in on the shouting. Instead, he’s still with arms crossed, sending Bruce such a frigid look that Alfred is immediately shot back to the years of cold war between him and Bruce.

 

He takes a moment to close his eyes and sigh quietly. Then he opens them, steels his voice and commands, “ _Enough_.” 

 

They all fall silent and Bruce takes the moment to clear his throat and open his mouth. Alfred’s eyes narrow. “I said _enough_ , Master Bruce. Sit. Now.”

 

Bruce closes his mouth and moves stiffly over to the chair at the head of the table.

 

“Sit,” Alfred speaks again, to the children this time. “All of you.”

 

Damian gives his father one last venomous glare before dropping back down in his seat. Stephanie and Jason sit back down as well. Alfred fixes everyone with a hard glare. “I’m terribly disappointed in all of you. You put your lives and the lives of each other in danger. I don’t care what reasoning you might have had, it’s insufficient. This ends now. Understood?”

 

“Pennyworth!” Damian protests. “I demand retribution! Drake—”

 

Alfred holds up a hand and gives him a severe look. “I said, _this ends now_. I expect no further retaliation from any of you. Any further actions will be dealt with by me and me alone. Are we clear?”

 

There’s quite a bit of grumbling, but no one denies him and that’s good enough for him. “Very good. Tim, I expect you to undo all the damage you did to your siblings’ properties. Additionally, you will clean every safehouse of Jason’s you tampered with and provide them with fresh groceries. Cassandra, you will feed, bathe and clean up after Damian’s pets for the next week. Jason, you will clean Dick’s apartment and prepare meals for him for the next few days. Stephanie, you will clean Tim’s apartment and take the opportunity to return any other items of his you might have borrowed. Dick and Damian, you will clean Stephanie’s apartment, do her laundry, and provide her with fresh groceries.”

 

Stephanie snorts. “Sucks for you losers, I’ve got like three weeks’ worth of dirty laundry and no washer or dryer.”

 

“I hope you like tofu, Brown, because you’re getting a fridge full of it,” Damian snaps back.

 

Alfred clears his throat. “The grocery lists will be provided by the person the groceries are to be purchased for and will be approved by me. Deviations from approved lists will result in further punishment.”

 

Damian crosses his arms and slouches grumpily in his seat.

 

He’d taken care in choosing the punishments for the children, making sure each one was tasked with something for one of the others. He’d made an effort to keep the tasks as equal as possible. Tim had to clean several of Jason’s safehouses because Jason kept his places fairly empty and clean. But as Tim himself tended to be on the messy side, Stephanie only had to clean one.

 

“All these tasks will be performed by each of you. No contracting the work out to a third party. Are there any questions?”

 

“Yeah, what about him?” Jason demands, nodding angrily towards Bruce.

 

Alfred frowns. Bruce has proven to be a bit trickier. “First off, Master Bruce, you will sign the diner over to Miss Stephanie. I have been informed by the owners that they’re more than happy with the arrangement. However, you have no business owning a diner, and given the depth of her feelings for the place, I’m sure Miss Stephanie will do an excellent job with the place. However, should there be any financial difficulties, you will be responsible for them.”

 

“Fine,” Bruce says shortly and Stephanie’s eyes shoot wide.

 

“ _Holy shit. I own the waffles_.”  


Alfred feels a small ounce of relief. That’s one taken care of. The boys won’t be placated so easily.

 

“That’s it, Blondie? You’re going to roll over just like that? What happened to punching him in the dick?” Jason demands scornfully.

 

Stephanie turns to him, looking a little dazed. “The waffles, Jay. They’re mine. All of them are mine. Do you know what this _means_?”

 

“That you’re going to live up to the Fatgirl name?” Damian interjects mockingly from down the table.

 

Alfred’s eyes narrow. “Master Damian, that is quite enough.” He flicks his gaze over all of them and decides Damian’s as good a place to start as any. “Master Bruce. Damian’s class has a field trip to the Gotham City Aquarium next Friday. They need chaperones.” He sees the first crack in Bruce’s mask, as the blank, stony expression drops away for a brief moment to show a flicker of panic and pleading. Alfred has no sympathy as he delivers the sentence. “You’ve graciously volunteered.”

 

Stephanie snickers in her seat as Damian turns to his father with a shark’s grin. “I’ll make sure the news of your attendance spreads to my classmates’ families. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of conversation partners to keep you occupied,” he says maliciously. “I believe we’re also having a picnic lunch in the park.”

 

Bruce’s expression turns openly pleading as he looks from his son to Alfred. “You can take this opportunity to brush up on what the Gotham housewives are up to these days,” he says. _You made this bed, Master Bruce_.

 

Stephanie snickers some more, and Alfred notices she has her cell phone out, trained on Bruce’s face. He’s fairly certain that video is being sent to Barbara and will be saved for posterity. He silently approves and turns his gaze back to the boys. Two down, two to go. And the more difficult two, at that. He’s not surprised when Dick speaks first.

 

“If it’s alright with you, Alfred, I’d prefer to deal with this myself. I already know what I want from him,” he says, giving Bruce a cold look.

 

Alfred considers. Out of all of the children, Dick has the most experience fighting with Bruce. He’d been doing it the longest, and he often understands Bruce better than anyone besides himself. After all this time, he has no doubt that Dick and Bruce can sort out things between themselves more quickly than he can sort it out for them. And there’s no doubt that Dick will make Bruce pay for his actions. Judging by the look on the man’s face, Bruce knows that as well.

 

“Very well, Master Dick,” he agrees.

 

Bruce sighs.

 

“What about me?” Jason demands angrily. “What if I know what I want from him too?”

 

Alfred resists the urge to rub his forehead. “That depends, Master Jason, on what it is you want.”

 

Jason leans forward in his seat and plants his elbows on the table, apparently ready to discuss business. “To start with, Gotham’s gay pride event is next week. I want him to patrol in a rainbow glitter Batsuit.”

 

Bruce frowns. “I can’t fight crime that visible.”

 

“The point is to _be_ visible,” Jason snaps back. “The rest of us can handle the real crime that night. You’re making a statement.”

 

Bruce turns his gaze to Alfred, no doubt expecting him to talk some sense into the young man, but compared to his earlier request, a rainbow Batsuit is remarkably tame. And though it’s not quite in the same vein as the rest of the punishments, it shows Jason’s character that he’s demanding support for a cause he believes in.

 

“Alright,” Alfred allows.

 

Bruce’s expression goes slack in surprise, but it lasts only a split moment before his eyes narrow and there’s a hard edge to his mouth.

 

“What else?” Alfred asks, because he knows better than to expect Jason to be appeased by just that.

 

“An interview with Vicki Vale about the importance of equality and support for the LGBT community.”

 

Bruce scowls. “I’ll agree to the Batsuit, and you know I support equal rights, but an interview with Vale? No.”

 

“As _Batman_ ,” Jason adds with a vicious grin.

 

“Jason,” Bruce protests, annoyed, but Alfred cuts him off.

 

“Very well.”

 

Bruce turns his scowl on Alfred, but it’s remarkably easy to ignore. He’s had decades of practice and besides, it’s hard to take seriously someone whose nappies he used to change as a wee babe.

 

“Last, I’m texting a list of charities and community organizations that could use donations. After that, we’ll consider his debt fifteen percent repaid.”

 

“Fifteen percent?” Bruce protests.

 

Jason shoots him a cold glare. “ _Fifteen percent_. And I don’t want to see your face or hear your voice until you’re at eighty-five percent. If you need to talk to me, you can go through Alfred or one of the others,” he declares before shoving himself up from the table. He looks at Alfred. “Can I go now?”

 

Alfred’s counting himself lucky that Jason isn’t still demanding to shoot the man, so he readily agrees. He’s not so naïve as to think time will diminish any of the young man’s anger, but it might allow them to find other more constructive ways for Bruce to redeem himself. “Yes, Master Jason. I’ll speak more with you later.”

 

Jason nods and then he’s out the door. Dick stands up as well and looks at Bruce. “Tonight, before patrol.”

 

Bruce nods, looking resigned.

 

“You all have one week to accomplish the tasks I’ve set for you,” Alfred speaks as the rest of the children stand as well. “I expect you all to behave more responsibly from here on out.”

 

He gets a chorus of agreements before they all head out, Stephanie gleefully showing Damian the video of Bruce’s response to his punishment while Tim asks for her to send it to him. Cass is smiling as she follows, and Dick is offering tips on how Damian might best make the fieldtrip as horrendous an experience for Bruce as possible. It’s clear the war between them is over.

 

Once they’re gone, Alfred closes his eyes and takes a deep steadying breath. Though things have ended as well as they possible could have, it’s been a trying afternoon and now he feels drained and every bit his age. How long do they expect him to keep up with their shenanigans? It’s marvelous having the Manor full and lively, but six children, each one every bit as headstrong as Master Bruce himself… Alfred is getting old and he’d very much appreciate it if they could all tone down the dramatics a bit.

 

Eyes still closed, he hears Master Bruce stand up from the table and walk out of the room. He sighs and opens his eyes, wondering how long he’ll sulk this time. However, the man surprises him by returning a moment later with one of the good bottles of scotch and two glasses. He sets them down and pours them both a drink. Alfred sits and accepts the olive branch.

 

“This is not what I expected when I took in Dick all those years ago,” Bruce speaks ruefully. “I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly didn’t involve getting sucked into a prank war with my five children and their extremely tenacious friend.”

 

_Sucked in_. Such an interesting choice of words for someone who, by all appearances, leapt straight in uninvited, turning a small, childish battle of wills into an all-out war. And Alfred is at a total loss as to _why_.

 

“Now that the children are gone, perhaps you can enlighten me. What, prey tell, was your reasoning, because I can’t imagine what was going through your mind.”

 

Bruce winces, appearing the slightest bit sheepish. “I intended to teach them a lesson of the dangers of mixing that sort of behavior with their nightlives. At some point it snowballed. Tim’s rather diabolical,” he admits, sliding Alfred a look, and it’s easy for him to see the pride in the younger man’s gaze. The twinkle of approval in his eyes. He’d had _fun_ , Alfred realizes, and he takes a moment to wonder if teaching them a lesson had been Bruce’s only motivation. On the surface, Alfred didn’t doubt that that was exactly what led to Master Bruce’s involvement, but on a deeper level he wonders if Bruce had simply been feeling left out.

 

_Heaven deliver us all from the emotional incompetence that plagues this family._

 

“Thank you for taking care of everything,” Bruce says after a moment of silence. “You shouldn’t have had to.”

 

“While that is certainly true, I’m not sure things are completely taken care of. You’re likely to face further retribution from Master Jason. He will not be appeased easily, and he was quite adamant I let him shoot you.”

 

He can see a trace of amusement in the way Bruce takes another sip of his scotch and it sparks annoyance in his gut. “Really, Master Bruce. He made a rather compelling argument. You’re quite lucky I turned down his bargain or we’d be having this conversation in the med bay.”

 

“What’d he offer?” Bruce asks curiously.

 

Alfred frowns and starts listing everything Jason had bargained. Bruce’s expression grows more serious as he goes on, and he feels mollified that Bruce is finally understanding the gravity of what had been a very serious conversation on Jason’s end. But that feeling vanishes when at the end of it all, Bruce says in the utmost seriousness, “You should have said yes.”

 

He sets his glass down a little more firmly than is strictly necessary. “I’m sure I misheard you, Master Bruce. Certainly, you did not mean I should have allowed Master Jason to shoot you.”

 

Bruce’s expression is determined. “It wouldn’t be lethal. If it means having him home, me being out of commission for a few weeks while I recover is a small price to pay. Dick is more than capable of filling in as Batman.”

 

Alfred honestly can’t remember the last time he was this annoyed with his oldest ward. Jason shooting Bruce wouldn’t be good for anyone, regardless of the agreement he was willing to make. It’d be much better if Jason made the choice to come home more often because he wanted to be here. And while shooting Bruce might make him feel better in the short term, it would just end up being one more thing separating father and son, and he will not stand by and watch any of his family members hurt unnecessarily when they spent so much time hurting already.

 

He pushes away from the table in aggravation. “You’re free to take it up with Master Jason, but I’ll have no part in it.”

 

“I can’t. He won’t agree if he knows I’m alright with it. The only reason he even smokes in the first place is to spite me. It needs to come from you.”

 

Alfred gives him a scathing look. “Then it appears you’re out of luck, Master Bruce. If you’re so keen to get shot, might I suggest dressing up like a bat and going out to fight crime.” And with that, he leaves the room. He can just hear Bruce’s muffled, “ _Fuck_ ” as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's all, folks. Credit for Bruce's punishment with the boys goes to chibi_nightowl. The field trip thing is absolute gold and 100% her brilliance. I'm planning on writing Bruce's suffering as a thank you. Hopefully it won't take me a year ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Less Great Glasses Saga](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14584800) by [CatChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatChan/pseuds/CatChan)




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